


For I am Like the Moon

by malevolentmango



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dreams, F/F, Femslash February, Goddesses, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango
Summary: The woman takes a sip of her tea, a smile still playing about her lips as she stares at Lucretia over the brim of her cup.“My name is Sehanine Moonbow.”“Nice to meet you,” Lucretia says, struggling to keep her voice level in the presence of an actual goddess.“Tell me, Lucretia,” she says. “How does a mere human raise a new moon?”





	For I am Like the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Sehanine Moonbow is a moon goddess in the Forgotten Realms world of D&D. My knowledge of her comes entirely from googling and I've absolutely altered things to fit my narrative, so don't expect a traditional depiction of her.
> 
> A big thank you to [Kipp](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyKipp) for betaing! <3

_Tonight I've watched_

_The moon and then_ _the Pleiades_

_go down_

 

_The night is now_

_half-gone;_ _youth_

_goes; I am_

 

_in bed alone_

 

_\- Sappho_

 

~~~

 

Lucretia spends countless days and nights working with the Millers to construct the Bureau of Balance moon base. She barely sleeps, instead working tirelessly towards her goals, the only goals that matter: Collect the Relics. Cut off the Hunger. Bring her family back.

 

She adopts those words like a mantra, repeating them in the lonely hours between dusk and dawn while she waits for Lucas and Maureen to return for another day’s work. Everything she does between now and the day she gets her family back is inconsequential - everything is just a step in that direction.

 

When she does manage to sleep, it’s fitful and filled with fragments of disjointed dreams that she can never remember upon waking. Lucretia doesn’t worry about it. She has much bigger concerns.

 

Almost a year after she threw the last of her journals into Fisher’s tank, she feeds her old friend another note: the knowledge of the moon base that they’ve just completed, to be erased from the collective knowledge of this plane. To everyone living here, it will seem as if they’ve always had two moons. To Lucretia, it means that her work can finally begin in earnest.

 

That day, she allows herself a moment to feel triumphant. She shares a bottle of wine with the Millers and her small crew, the founding members of the Bureau, and she goes to bed thinking of all the plans she will put into motion the following day.

 

That night, she dreams.

 

She finds herself in a spacious parlor, the corners of which fade into a bright white light if she stares at them too long. There are no windows; instead the room is bathed in the warm light of dozens of candles, spread throughout the room so that the shadows are few and everything is illuminated.

 

But the brightest light comes from the woman sitting on the couch in the center of the room, staring at Lucretia, her head tilted just slightly to the side. She _is_ light, Lucretia thinks, followed by the realization that she can _think,_ that whatever kind of dream this is, she has some small amount of agency.

 

“Lucretia,” the woman says, her voice echoing as if she's speaking to Lucretia over a vast distance rather than just across the room. “Won't you join me?”

 

The woman gestures across an intricately-carved coffee table to the couch opposite her. There's a tea set laid out on it, steam drifting lazily from the spout of the teapot. Lucretia sits, for lack of any other option - she gets the feeling a refusal would not be well received. Every movement she makes feels like trudging through mud, as if all her limbs are asleep while her brain isn't.

 

“Tea?” The woman - The being? The creature? - says, and the teapot begins floating of its own accord, filling up their cups.

 

“Thank you,” Lucretia says, taking her cup and saucer as they land gently on her open palm. “But I don't think I'm supposed to eat or drink anything here - wherever ‘here’ is.”

 

The woman laughs, a noise of startled delight like the tinkling of a wind chime, and Lucretia feels too warm all of a sudden.

 

“You have good instincts.” The woman takes a sip of her tea, a smile still playing about her lips as she stares at Lucretia over the brim of her cup. “But luckily for you, I am not fae. My name is Sehanine Moonbow.”

 

Lucretia’s hand only shakes a little when she raises her own cup deliberately to her lips. It would be impolite to turn down a drink from a goddess.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Lucretia says, struggling to keep her voice level.

 

Sehanine regards her for a few long, silent moments. Lucretia finds that it's difficult to look directly at her for too long - the light that radiates from her makes it hard to discern any of her features at all. She's like the moon itself, glowing pure white and impossibly distant.

 

“Tell me, Lucretia,” she says finally. “How does a mere human raise a new moon?”

 

Lucretia takes pride in her words, both written and spoken - in the stories she weaves and the accounts she records. She spent a century perfecting that skill, and her young adulthood before that. She knows the power that words carry, and she knows how heavy a single piece of paper can be, depending on what it says. Words are her domain.

 

Which makes it all the more embarrassing when the first word out of her mouth in response to a direct question from a goddess is: “Um.”

 

The glow around Sehanine flares just a tad brighter for a second, and she raises an eyebrow. Distantly, Lucretia thinks she hears wind chimes.

 

“Come now, there must be an explanation,” Sehanine says. “It is no simple task to put such an object up in the sky beside the moon herself. You may have made the world forget, Lucretia, but the gods forget nothing.”

 

“It’s sort of…” Lucretia tries, silently cursing the fact that all her words seem to have left her. “It's… I mean, it's not, technically, a moon. It's more of a… a base?”

 

“Bases are for armies. What war do you seek?”

 

Lucretia thinks of the people sleeping peacefully in their newly built dormitories, and hopes she has not doomed them all. She finds her words again.

 

“I did not seek war,” Lucretia says. “But it finds me anyway.”

 

“So you hide in the sky?”

 

Lucretia bristles. She sits up straighter and sets her cup back on its saucer. The _clink_ is not as loud as it should be. “I'm not hiding. I will go wherever my mission takes me. But I need a safe place to return to. A… a home _base.”_

 

Sehanine considers her in stark silence, her face impassive in the small glimpses Lucretia catches before the light forces her gaze away again.

 

“You are not of this world,” Sehanine says.

 

It's not a question. Lucretia shakes her head.

The room, she notices, seems to be fading around them: the edges that flickered before are gone completely now, and the white light seems to be closing in on the center where they sit, swallowing all the candles and decorations in nothingness.

 

It's not the kind of devouring Lucretia is familiar with, but it's close.

 

Sehanine smiles. “We will see each other again, Lucretia.”

 

When Lucretia wakes the next morning, she remembers every second of the dream. More than anything else, that's what convinces her that it wasn't a dream at all.

 

~~~

 

Lucretia throws herself into her work - recruiting new members, searching for the Relics - and puts the dream that wasn't a dream to the back of her mind. Now that the base is complete, she can truly focus on the reason it was created in the first place.

 

And if, on some nights, she stares up at the real moon for a few moments longer than normal, she doesn't think about it too hard.

 

The first time one of her Reclaimers doesn't come back, a feeling of dread settles over her like a heavy mantle. Each death and disappearance adds to the weight of it, until it seems impossible to lift the pen she uses to write their eulogies to the voidfish.

 

She writes them out of existence with shaking hands.

 

One night when she falls asleep, she doesn't wake up in her bed.

 

The parlor room is the same as it was the first time she visited - filled with brilliant, all-encompassing light - and Sehanine Moonbow waits for her in the exact same spot, already sipping delicately from her teacup.

 

“Join me,” she says, in a voice that's trying for welcoming but still leans heavily on command.

 

Lucretia obeys. She has no reason not to. Sehanine waits for Lucretia to prepare her tea before speaking again.

 

“How goes your war?”

 

Jumping right into it then, Lucretia thinks. She supposes even goddesses must have places to be and appointments to keep. She can relate.

 

“Not great,” she says, trying and failing to keep some of the edge out of her voice.

 

Sehanine tilts her head in a way that might indicate concern, on someone mortal. She smiles, and it is lost immediately to the impenetrable glow that surrounds her.

 

“Your ‘home base’ is not working out, then?”

 

Lucretia sips her tea. It tastes sweet and herbal and like nothing at all.

 

“It serves its purpose. But I… I'm afraid.” She stares down into her cup and wonders why she's saying this at all, when she hasn't even written down these fears in her personal journals. “I send out so many people - _good_ people - and few of them return. And the ones that do return are empty-handed.”

 

“Should they not be punished for their failure?” Sehanine asks, as if it's the most logical conclusion.

 

Lucretia scoffs. “I will not punish someone else for my crew's mistakes.”

 

She feels eyes on her, piercing straight through her lighting her up from the inside and revealing all her secrets. And then the feeling disappears, and she's left with a curious, cold emptiness.

 

“And your crew?” Sehanine asks, as if nothing happened. “Will you punish them?”

 

Lucretia thinks of the brief flicker of betrayal on Magnus’s face as the last of her journals floated into Fisher’s tendrils. She thinks of Merle's confusion as he dipped his toes in the water at his new beach home, and of Taako's first show, where he kept reaching for ingredients from a helper who wasn't there. She thinks of Barry and Lup - lost, forgotten, alone... or worse. She thinks of her captain, with nothing but his name and his fierce loyalty to her.

 

Lucretia thinks, and grieves, and looks down at her cup for answers it doesn't hold. And she says, firmly and without fear of the goddess sitting in front of her, “They have suffered enough.”

 

Sehanine says nothing else. The room fades away into the darkness of sleep.

 

The next time she writes a note for a lost Reclaimer, she allows the weight to settle over her. But her hands do not shake.

 

She knows what she has to do.

 

~~~

 

Lucretia gets some of her family back, minus the part where they don't remember that she's family. It's almost worse than not having them at all, but not quite. At least with them here, she can pretend.

 

They still make her laugh. They're still good at what they do. But there's something raw and pointed and _sharp_ about them, as if all those years on the Starblaster filed down their rough edges and now, without those memories, they're somehow _less_ than the men she came to know.

 

She'll make this right, she thinks. There is no other option.

 

She watches them train - remembering things they already knew, practicing moves that used to be second nature but are now stilted and stumbling. She watches them leave and return, leave and return, never failing in their mission, always handing over the Relics with a goof and a laugh and a demand for their payment.

 

She gets many visits from Sehanine, too. Once a month, then twice a month, and then once a week. Sometimes they talk about nothing of consequence; sometimes, nothing at all. Sometimes Lucretia hears all the latest gossip from the Celestial Plane, and she shares the juiciest bits from the Bureau in exchange.

 

Sometimes, she talks about her family.

 

She tells the stories that only she remembers, now. They spill from her lips in a rush, the words that she fed to Fisher - tales of Magnus’s fierce bravery and fiercer love for his companions, of the twins moving seamlessly around each other in their ship's tiny kitchen, of Davenport at the helm with his cocky grin as they sped away from certain doom. She hums the song that Barry and Lup played at the Legato Conservatory. Sometimes, she draws: little sketches of memories that always fade away when the dream does.

 

Sehanine always listens. Occasionally, she asks questions, but mostly she just sips her tea and watches Lucretia talk with what Lucretia thinks might be a smile. It's still hard to make out her individual features, but it gets easier with time. Lucretia assumes that she's just getting used to the light the same way a person's eyes adjust to prolonged darkness.

 

Once, after she finishes telling a story about Magnus sneaking up on Barry to “test his reaction time” and Barry cursing him to speak in a high-pitched voice for an entire week in panicked retaliation, Sehanine laughs and says, “How did you manage to avoid all of these… _shenanigans_ yourself?”

 

“Well… I was the chronicler. It was my job to record everything. So I suppose I just didn't engage as much, in the beginning.”

 

“What changed?”

 

Lucretia sighs. “Time. Our goals. Me.” She grins ruefully. “Mostly the latter.”

 

She tells Sehanine about the year she spent alone, running and hiding and fending for herself, after her family was wiped out by the Judges. How her loneliness was constantly at odds with her determination to survive; how it tested her in ways that even their decades of traveling hadn't quite prepared her for.

 

“It was… harrowing,” she concludes. “But I was less of a wallflower, after that.”

 

Sehanine is quiet for a few moments, observing her from across the table with an eerie, still calmness. That's one thing Lucretia has noticed, during all these visits - Sehanine only ever moves with a purpose. She doesn't fidget, or make unnecessary motions with her hands. Lucretia supposes that the gods are, after all, always deliberate in their actions.

 

“So that is how you raised a new moon,” Sehanine says, her voice resonating with a mixture of amusement and… pride? “Finally, an answer to my original question, after all this time.”

 

For a moment, Lucretia has no idea what to say. It occurs to her for the first time that all of this - every visit, every shared story, every wind chime laugh - was just an investigation. That the only reason Sehanine came to see her was to get answers, and nothing more. That, in her loneliness, Lucretia has revealed too much, invested too much, given too much of herself to this mysterious, enthralling being.

 

Lucretia clears her throat, which does nothing to remove the lump of emotion that now resides there, and says in her most even voice, “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

 

The parlor fades away and Lucretia wakes up in her bed. She must have kicked her blankets aside in her sleep, but despite their absence she still feels warm all over - an unnatural warmth, one that suffuses her from the inside out. It's pleasant in a way that she can't pinpoint.

 

When she sits up, knowing that no more sleep will come tonight, something slides across the sheets to rest against her hand. Confused, she holds it up to the moonlight streaming through her window - it’s a small crystal pendant in the shape of a waxing moon on a thin silver chain. When she touches the crystal tentatively, she finds that it's warm, too.

 

Lucretia's wearing it the next time she meets Sehanine in her parlor room. This time, the smile on Sehanine’s face is clear as day.

 

~~~

 

Lucretia discovers that goddesses do, in fact, have a sense of humor - once, after Lucretia's visit to the spa with Merle, Sehanine wrinkles her nose as soon as she enters the parlor and says, amused, “You smell like Pan after he spends too much time frolicking in the forest with his consorts.”

 

“Hazards of spending a weekend with Merle Highchurch,” Lucretia says with a small smile.

 

“Your friend the cleric,” Sehanine says,  nodding, and Lucretia tries not to look as pleased as she feels. Somehow, it's still always a surprise to discover that a goddess pays attention to the words she says.

 

“Yes. He invited me to a spa. Insisted I needed a break.” She grins ruefully. “I'm not sure how relaxing it actually was.”

 

“You do seem… changed.”

 

Lucretia stares at Sehanine. It takes her a moment to realize that she _can_ stare, that the blinding light that normally drives her eyes away is faded slightly. She can pick out features on Sehanine’s normally featureless face - the dainty tips of her pointed ears and the bright silver of her eyes behind dark lashes, the pink curve of her lips and the fine arch of her brows.

 

For a moment, Lucretia forgets how to breathe. She fills the stretching silence with a mumbled “I do?”

 

“You can see me.” Lucretia nods. “That must have been _some_ spa vacation.”

 

“I don't think…” Lucretia starts, distracted, frazzled. Sehanine waits patiently for her to continue. Somehow, that makes it worse. “I drank a lot of wine?”

 

Sehanine laughs her wind chime laugh, and Lucretia can't help but lean closer to the sound.

 

“All drunken fools can see the moon if they look up. But very few can see inside it.”

 

Lucretia finds it hard to remember what she discussed with Merle, even though it was only a couple days ago. She was asking him questions, trying to gauge how much he'd changed, how much he still held onto…

 

“Faith,” she says, only realizing after the fact that she said the word out loud. Sehanine raises an eyebrow. “We--we talked about his faith. In Pan. He said that it helps him get through tough times.”

 

“And what of your faith, Lucretia?” Sehanine asks, leaning forward in her seat, as if eager for her answer. “To whom do you pledge your loyalty?”

 

Nothing has ever felt so much like a trick question. It's on the tip of her tongue to lie, because that's what she's good at: all these lies and half-truths. But it's never that way with Sehanine. Lucretia always assumes that what she says in this parlor doesn't matter, that the gods miss nothing and therefore it's pointless to lie anyway.

 

She could, she realizes. It's within her power to do so. But she doesn't.

 

“Myself,” she says. “I have faith in myself. And in my--my family.”

 

“Even though a goddess sits before you?” Sehanine doesn't sound accusing, just curious.

 

Lucretia shakes her head. “That's different. That's--there's a difference between faith and belief. Belief implies research, and educated guessing, and… and evidence. Encounters. If you asked me what I _believe_ in, I would… I would say you.” She looks down at her hands, feeling flushed. There's only so much she can say in the face of that unwavering gaze. “But faith is… it's indefinable. It's what you hold close even if there's no proof at all.” She thinks of Merle and his new arm and the way he always, always came back after a cycle where he visited John with a smile on his face. “It's what keeps you going when all else fails.”

 

There's a glowing reflection in the surface of her tea, and when she looks up again, Sehanine is standing before her, closer than she's ever been. She puts a hand against Lucretia’s cheek, and Lucretia can't hold back her gasp at the sudden heat, soft and fleeting though it is.

 

“The moon,” Sehanine says, “is vast, distant, and unknowable. And yet… you can see me.” She smiles. “Perhaps we are just two moons orbiting each other in the sky after all.”

 

~~~

 

When the boys return with the Chalice and describe what they went through in Refuge, Lucretia nearly loses it. She's so, so proud of them, and she can't even tell them how much it means to her, to know that despite everything they are still the people she knew - strong, capable, and able to withstand the worst kind of horrors. They have a hundred years of practice in sheer stubbornness, and it continues to pay off.

 

But with the Chalice comes the realization that there's only one Relic left for them to retrieve. The thought of sending them into Wonderland makes her ill, but they've come too far now.

 

Her mission is almost at its end. She's so _close_ to having her family back, after all this time.

 

She needs them to succeed, but more importantly, she needs them to survive. And so she trains them incessantly, even though she knows what they're capable of. She runs them through drills and scenarios and spells until they’re all are exhausted, until she's at the point of sleeping so soundly that she doesn't dream at all.

 

At least, not in the normal way.

 

“Where does this bitter sadness come from, Lucretia?” Sehanine asks after another long day of training. The way she says Lucretia’s name sends a shiver through her whole body, just like it always does, and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the vision in front of her. “Why does it dominate your thoughts?”

 

Lucretia sets down her teacup, too anxious even in sleep to keep her hands from shaking.

 

“I'm so close,” she says. “With this last Relic, I can finally put an end to this. I can--I can finally make this right.”

 

“But?”

 

“But where I'm sending them, that place is… too horrible for words.” She gestures at her face, at her white hair. “I didn't always look like this. Wonderland changes people, and I'm afraid it might change them too.” She shakes her head mournfully. “I've already changed them so much…”

 

In the space between one second and the next, Sehanine moves to Lucretia's side. Lucretia startles, staring up at her with wide eyes. She doesn't get a moment to recover before Sehanine says, “May I?”

 

Lucretia has no idea what she's asking for. She nods anyway.

 

Sehanine sits on the couch next to her, leaving very little space between them for Lucretia to _breathe,_ which is a thing she finds herself desperately needing to do. Sehanine takes her hand, and a pleasant warmth spreads through her immediately from the places where their fingers intertwine. With her other hand, Sehanine tips Lucretia’s face up with a single finger under her chin. She examines Lucretia, the corner of her mouth quirked up in a tiny grin. This close up, her silvery eyes are all that Lucretia can see.

 

For a few quiet moments, all of her troubles seem like distant memories, and the only things of any importance are Sehanine’s hand in hers and her sure, unwavering gaze.

 

“Change is inevitable,” Sehanine says, her voice washing over Lucretia like a cool breeze. “Like the phases of the moon. Although I suppose _your_ moon does not change in quite the same way.” She smiles, and even though she doesn't laugh outright, Lucretia hears the wind chimes anyway. “But the cycle never fails. Eventually, all things are as they were meant to be.”

 

“Even if…” Lucretia clears her throat, tries for something a little less breathless. “Even if I make the wrong choice?”

 

“Your choice is your own. Right or wrong is less important than the decision itself.”

 

Something settles in Lucretia, then, some fluttering thing that kept her training the boys long past the time she should have sent them to Wonderland. She knows what will happen when she wakes up.

 

There's a warm glow, and Sehanine’s calm, smiling face, and just before Lucretia sits bolt upright in her bed with her heart pounding, there is the soft pressure of lips against hers, fleeting and as fragile as a firefly’s wings.

 

~~~

 

Lucretia dreams, but it's not the same. There is no parlor room, no white light, no tea, no smiling goddess. There is just Sehanine, a dim, fading light surrounded by inky black darkness, too far away for her to reach.

 

She cannot move. All she can do is watch.

 

Sehanine raises a hand in her direction and speaks, but Lucretia can't hear her. She tries to read her lips, but only catches a few words: _plane_ and _dark_ and _closing,_ and she doesn't need the words in between as much as she needs _her._ Lucretia tries to force her limbs to move, but nothing happens. She's paralyzed.

 

The image flickers out like a snuffed candle, and Sehanine is gone. Lucretia wakes up in her bed with a shout, her clothes clinging to her sweat-coated body.

 

The crystal pendant that rests against her chest is, for the first time, cold to the touch.

 

She knows, without a doubt, that the Hunger is here. And once again, it’s going to try to take everything from her.

 

It ends today.

 

~~~

 

Three nights after the Day of Story and Song, there's a new moon. Lucretia knows this without having to look up; the phases of the moon are second nature to her by now, and she notes it only because of the absence of light in her room.

 

She stares out her window at the darkness - natural, of course, now and forever thanks to what they did - lit by stars and nothing else, and thinks how very lonely it is to be the only moon in the sky, even if just for one night.

 

It's a feeling she finds herself much too familiar with.

 

There's a flare of heat against her chest that makes her gasp, and she reaches up to grasp her pendant. It's hot, just shy of burning, and it comes with the realization that she's no longer alone in her room.

 

Lucretia spins around to find Sehanine standing at the foot of her bed - and there's no parlor tricks this time, no bright lights, no faded, ethereal edges. She still glows, faintly, but she's unmistakably present. Real. No longer the being that occupies Lucretia's dreams. Instead, she's right here.

 

Lucretia takes a few steps forward involuntarily. The last time she saw Sehanine, she was being swallowed up by the Hunger. But Pan showed himself to Merle after Taako broke through their hold on this plane, and she thought…

 

She thought perhaps her purpose was served.

 

Sehanine smiles. “I would not recommend getting too close,” she says. “Outside of dreams, the gods are too powerful to be touched by mortals.”

 

“Of course,” Lucretia says, and has never regretted being awake so much.

 

“It is… not ideal,” Sehanine says. Lucretia's not sure if she heard her thoughts and agrees with them, or if the sentiment is her own. Either way, it fills Lucretia with warmth. “But I thought, just this once, it was necessary to visit you in reality instead.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, I couldn't very well let _Pan_ show me up, could I?” She laughs, and it's just as musical as it's always been. “It's no easy task to win a goddess’s favor, after all.”

 

Lucretia's hand goes to her pendant. Sehanine smiles.

 

“You were mine long before I gave you that token,” she says. “You became mine the moment you raised this base, this… new moon. That is the way of things.”

 

Lucretia has felt, at various points during her life, that she'd found a place where she belonged among the people around her. It took several cycles with the IPRE to get to that point, and that feeling now is only a glimmer of what it used to be, tarnished as it is by the decision she made and the memories she stole.

 

But nevertheless, she remembers it. It's creeping up on her now, ready to overtake her. If she has truly lost her family, then that's a burden she will have to bear. But perhaps she won't have to do it alone.

 

“So… what was this, then?” Lucretia asks, her fingers toying with the little crystal moon.

 

Sehanine shifts, just slightly, on her feet, the way a person would if they were nervous - an involuntary response from an infallible being.

 

“A gift, from one moon to another,” she says, her voice full of a fondness that has nothing to do with ownership or fate or the will of the gods. “A choice. A promise to be kept, if you still choose to accept it.”

 

Lucretia spent more than a decade just… thinking. Crafting their stories into an acceptable form for Fisher, plotting her next moves, building this base, making decisions for the Bureau. There has always been another avenue to explore, another set of guidelines, a multitude of things requiring her attention. No choice is ever made without careful deliberation; no choice is offered without hesitation.

 

But there was once a much younger Lucretia who took action without thinking - who grabbed hold of unfamiliar controls and guided their ship through a hostile plane, barreling towards nothing but a promise.

 

A promise that when it was all over, she wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

 

For the first time in a very long time, Lucretia doesn't stop to think.

 

“I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this is from a poem by Rumi, because apparently I couldn't decide on just one poem about the moon for this fic. The full poem is:
> 
> _Anyone who knows me, should learn to know me again; For I am like the Moon, you will see me with new face everyday._
> 
> Come chat with me about TAZ on [tumblr](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com)!


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